


P.S. I Hate You

by playout, PrinnPrick



Series: Love (and) Letters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epistolary, Gen or Pre-Slash, HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Rivals to Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playout/pseuds/playout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinnPrick/pseuds/PrinnPrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco, a wager, a shared flat, and a series of letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	P.S. I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> This goofy, slightly cracky epistolary fic is what PrinnPrick and I do for fun. We thought it was too good not to share...hope you'll agree :D

5th January 2001

Dear Diary,

Day One of having Potter for a flatmate.

I feel that this was a terrible idea, but I must complete the bet. I shall remain civil if he does, though I am certain his devious Gryffindor mind is plotting something to drive me out first. Gryffindors are not to be trusted when challenge is involved. The Quidditch pitch is one thing, but my sock drawer is another. Or the shower and my assorted hair needs. Or my bed... Salazar.

I will have to implement additional locks for the bedroom, but there is only one bathroom (one. One bathroom. What kind of primitive flat is this?!). I promise thee, if I wake up with red hair some morning there will be one less Saviour around!

DM

 

\------

 

Mione,

This was a terrible idea. Just bloody awful. Why didn't you stop me?? I thought you loved me.

I can't back out now because then Malfoy will win, but I'm not certain we'll both survive this stupid wager. He already swore to hex me bald if I so much as touch any of his poncy hair potions. (Like I would even want to.)

Six bloody months.

I'm swearing off Luna's eggnog for good.

I mean it this time.

—Harry

P.S.  
Tell Ron to quit laughing. I haven't forgotten that is at least 50% his fault.

 

\------

 

12th January 2001

Dear Diary,

I woke up this morning (at an appropriate time, as any civilized person with a proper sleeping schedule would) on Day Eight of My Own Personal Hell and there he was--sleeping. On the sofa. In just his pants. With a newspaper, of all things, covering his face. Seems innocent (if not prehistoric) enough until you consider the state of his feet, which were bare and ON THE CUSHIONS. His bare feet, unwashed and in desperate need of a pedicure, were all over my handmade, imported pillows--tainting my good taste with his disgusting, hairy toes and calloused heel!

Where did he grow up, a farm?!

I may not make it.

DM

 

\------

 

George,

I'm going to need some Wheezes.

Scratch that--send me a whole crate full.

I thought Gin's nap attack plan would flip Malfoy's lid, but he didn't say a single word (although he did have a satisfying eye-twitch later that evening that I like to believe was caused by my feet on his stupid uncomfortable sofa, if the way he kept glaring at them was any indication).

But then--then--he had the nerve to dump all my beer down the sink because he 'thought it had gone bad.' Bloody tosser.

I need the good stuff, George. Stink bombs, itching powder, wrinkle (producing) cream.

Extra explosions.

ASAP.

—Harry

 

\------

 

16th January 2001

Dear Diary,

I am going to kill him.

As I now write, we are both suffering from such intense itching that I am currently bathing in a tub's worth of anti-itch potion (I used it all for this bath, he can suffer.) The idiot poured itch powder all over my bed! _Itch powder_! I caught him in the act and we ended up scuffling into it and fighting, well, rather rabidly. I am now a horrid mess from head to toe thanks to that awful barbarian. He even ripped my favourite shirt in the process! And all because of his stupid rotten liquid that he claims is real drink and 'supposed to smell that way'.

As soon as I can move out of this tub without rashing I shall have my revenge... I shan't lose this wager!

DM

 

\------

 

Mione,

I need you to brew the strongest anti-itch potion you can and apparate over here with it as soon as possible. That bastard Malfoy refused to share any of his with me and I am in a world of hurt.

Take pity on me, please.

Your best and truest and longest friend who loves you so very much and would do _anything_ for you,

—Harry

P.S.  
No, it's not my fault. Why would you even think that?

 

\------

 

23rd January 2001

Dear Diary,

Potter was making some rather adorable noises in his sleep the other day. No, I was not snooping... He just left the door to his disgusting room open and I happened upon him slumbering. He whistles and sighs. Who knew? Does not make him more tolerable, but it is unexpectedly precious given his rough personality.

In less pleasant news, I also caught him drinking straight from the orange juice container. He even licked the rim! Ugh. Unsanitary. Disgusting. Worse than swine.

I require my daily dose of vitamin C and I refuse to consume his be-damned saliva! He shall pay.

...I realize now that I still haven't had my retribution for the itching incident. Potter's punishment should be twice as vicious. I will consult with Pansy.

DM

 

\------

 

Malfoy,

Since we are apparently labeling all the food now, kindly keep your thieving ferret's paws off my biscuits. There were three dozen when I left for work this morning so I know how many you ate, you gluttonous git. (Seriously, where do you put it all?) If you had bothered to ask, you would know that I made them for Teddy's Valentine's Day party and, thanks to you, had to stay up late making another batch so there would be enough for the whole class.

Wanker.

—HP

 

\------

 

Potter,

Thieving? _Moi?_ Absolutely not. You obviously miscounted (quite plausible given how poorly you performed in Arithmancy), as stealing, particularly something as trivial as _biscuits_ , is below me. No matter how many chocolate chips you bake into them. Or how perfectly golden they appear.

Besides, you ate my fine Munster cheese on a sandwich. Don't deny it--I saw you! I thought the smell would put you off, but apparently your stomach persists.

DM

P.S. Stop using my monogrammed socks for wanking! I keep finding them on the floor of your room in a certain state and I use a glass for that sort of activity, so it has to be you. Revolting! Use your own and then **wash them** , for Merlin's sake.

P.P.S. Or do you use them because you're fantasizing about me? If so, keep dreaming--Without my socks, thank you--I'm far above your station.

 

\------

 

Malfoy,

A) Stay out of my room! Whatever happened to "my space," "your space," "reluctantly shared space"? That was _your_ idea, if I recall.

B) You're the disgusting one! Merlin's tits. I'd ask what you mean about "using a glass" but I _really_ don't want to know. (In fact, I think I'm going to need to Obliviate myself to get that unwanted tidbit out of my head.) Anyway, I'm not using your stupid, snobby initialed socks to wank. The very idea is withering my cock.

It's your barmy house elf that keeps putting your things in my room for some unfathomable reason, and if they're are crusty when you get them back, you need to take that up with him, not me.

C) I hate to break it to you, but if anyone's out of someone's league, it's me to you, sweetheart.

I don't know if you've heard, but I'm kind of a big deal.

—HP

 

\------

 

Dear Over-Inflated-Ego-Who-Lived,

Your fame only goes so far in the long run.

Your looks are limited, intelligence less than average, hair is a nest of vipers, spectacles woefully out-of-fashion, you wouldn't know how to do proper accounting if your life depended on it, you're short, you sleep-whistle, and you laugh like a donkey. If not for your title, you would be just another face in the crowd!

I, on the other hand, am worth not just a second, but a third and fourth glance every time. Even without my name or money, I have looks, talent, and class.

But I digress...I meant by economic standards I am in a station far higher than yours. I am the heir to two lordships, and that alone puts me in a totally different class.

As for you, I won't dare say you are _worthless_ , because I admit even you have your talents. Bravery in no small measure, for one. But you are still a pig who rides on his fame!

DM

 

\------

 

Wow, was that an almost-compliment hidden amongst a full page of insults? You really must be the better man to be able to dig deep within yourself and find a kind word for me. I mean, it's not like I've ever done you any favours...

If you don't count keeping your sorry arse out of Azkaban and, oh I don't know, _saving your life._

...

I'm going out. Don't wait up.

P.S.  
If I bring someone home, I expect you to keep your pointy inbred nose out of my business.

 

\------

 

Potter,

As I said, I am of a higher standard and can give credit where credit is due. I don't insult, I speak in facts--good or bad.

As for the possibility of company, don't you dare bring anyone home! I am in no mood to deal with the sounds of your noisy snogging and subpar shagging. I have had a few opportunities to do the same to you and didn't out of consideration, so I expect the same. Which reminds me, I shall be out tomorrow with an associate and may not return for some time.

DM

P.S. Learn to clean a damned dish! It isn't Potions class! Just flick your wand, try not to break anything, and clean up your own mess, at the minimum. None of those dishes are mine!

 

\------

 

Ron,

If you can steal away for a couple of hours, meet me at the Leaky. Malfoy is driving me absolutely spare. At this point, I can't even tell if it's better or worse that he is so bloody shaggable. When he's not running his mouth, that is.

I need a drink.

P.S.  
Whose ruddy idea was it to rent a flat with no Floo? Owl post is a pain and poor Archibald is starting to give me the evil eye whenever I pick up a quill because of how much flying he's had to do lately.

 

\------

 

16th February 2001

Dear Pansy,

Forgive me for having neglected you these past few weeks. But was a howler at three in the morning absolutely necessary?

Don't answer that.

At any rate, I have left Potter with the idea that I've arranged for a shag (and maybe I have? Blaise and I are going to that new club downtown so who knows? Blaise has been awfully persistent on my need to get laid.) I am hoping it'll properly mess with his scruffy head. Apparently he plans to bring a two-sickle date back our flat sometime in the near future--if he hasn't already done so during one of my few times away, the bastard. He better not have shagged some floozy on _my_ bed!

I guarantee I would be a far better lover than any he might find, but the idiot is blind to reality. His loss.

Wish me luck?

Hug your current conquest for me.

Love,  
Draco

 

\------

 

17th February 2001

Dear Diary,

Potter did not come home last night.

I did.

Alone.

 

The club was all right, and Blaise's company was enjoyable as always, but the caliber of men was...lacking. None of them could hold a candle to him.

I'm feeling maudlin here in this cursed flat on Valentine's weekend with only my depressing imaginings of just what he's getting up to for company.

I should never have agreed to the wager. The only reason I did was to have a chance at him, to show him I've changed for the better. But the moment we stepped into this damnable place, we both reverted to old habits. I can't seem to stop sneering and sniping at him and he acts as if my very presence is an affront.

I can't do this anymore. What's a hundred Galleons worth against my pride?

 

I'll leave him a note.

 

\------

 

Potter,

You win. Congratulations.

DM

 

\------

 

Malfoy,

You forgot your diary here.

Actually, I think your weird house elf may have taken it, since it was left on my pillow, open to the last page.

...I might have read it. (I saw my name!)

We should talk.

P.S.  
I spent the night at Ron and Hermione's.

P.P.S.  
If you're going to send a reply with Archibald, you should let him rest a bit first. He's a might irritable (and bitey).

P.P.P.S.  
You haven't seen a pair of red and gold pants lying around, have you? They're my favourite and they seem to have gone missing. I'm wondering if your house elf is involved.

 

\------

 

23rd May 2001

To the Property Managers at Star Charts Real Estate, re: The Heron, Moor Lane, Moorgate,

We, the undersigned, wish to renew our lease for another six months with an option to continue. Please have a new contract drawn up and sent to our solicitors for review.

Sincerely yours,  
Misters Draco Lucius Malfoy & Harry James Potter


End file.
